


Path Less Taken

by ShiroiKabocha



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:03:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiroiKabocha/pseuds/ShiroiKabocha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor can be pretty predictable. Loki wants to switch things up for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Path Less Taken

He must have used the wrong word for something. At least, Thor thinks that’s the case. Tony keeps such a straight face it’s hard to tell.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Tony gestures with his fork. “You’re right, I _should_ goodle it. Somebody pass me the Ipag.” Natasha bites the insides of her cheeks; it’s what she does to suppress smiles. Barton is less successful at that as he slides the tablet across the table. 

“Hey Banner, need your help.” Tony taps the screen with one hand while reaching over to snap his fingers at Bruce, hunched over his tray at the other end of the bench. “I can’t get on the internep. What’s the password for the sci-fi?” Bruce chokes mid-mouthful, and it’s confirmed.

Tony’s making fun of Thor again.

The feeling is a familiar one, now that Thor knows enough Midgardian conversational conventions to recognize snarkiness when he encounters it. It doesn’t usually bother him. It’s all in good fun, and besides, the other Avengers would make just as many blunders were the tables turned. None of them could work their way around “Yggdrasil” without sounding like an idiot. 

Thor glances around the mess hall. Everyone else is laughing by now; he supposes he should join in. He tries to. He’s not sure why it doesn’t work.

Steve isn’t laughing quite so hard as the others—doubtless, most of the jokes fly over his head, too—and now he eyes Thor as a half-formed smile dies on his lips. He sets down his sandwich and claps a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “I tell you what, dinner seemed like a good idea at the time, but hopping all these time zones has my schedule out of whack.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m heading to the gym. Spot me?”

Thor gives Steve a nod, and they exit, navigating the winding corridors and heavy bulkheads of the SHIELD carrier. The sounds of Tony’s continued theatrics echo after them. When they’re out of earshot, Thor allows himself a sigh of relief. “Thank you. You have a talent for providing graceful exits when they’re most appreciated.”

“Don’t mention it,” Steve says, opening the door to the weight room. At this hour, most of the carrier’s personnel are either at their posts or at dinner, so the two of them have the facility to themselves. “I’ve been on the receiving end of Tony’s jokes more than enough times to know when I’ve had enough of them for one day.”

Thor waves his hand dismissively. “I know he means nothing by it. It’s just Stark being Stark.”

“Yeah, but sometimes ‘Stark being Stark’ means ‘Stark being an ass.’” Steve slides into position on the bench and Thor leans over him, ready to hand off the weights. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good guy, but we both know he can’t pass up an opportunity to remind everybody that he’s smarter than them.”

Thor smiles. “I can’t argue that point.”

“He’s so in love with himself. I swear, sometimes I think he’s worse than Loki. Oh, uh—” Steve frowns as he takes the weighs. “No offense.”

“None taken. My brother is often insufferable; that makes two points I can’t argue.”

“Where’s he been, anyway? Seems like years since we fought him.”

Thor pauses. “I’ve not seen him either,” he lies, “so I can’t be sure.”

“Him staying quiet this long makes me nervous.” Groans punctuate Steve’s sentences as he continues, talking through the lifting. “Gives him more time to plan something. But if he hasn’t even popped in to taunt you recently, maybe we got lucky. Maybe somebody else killed him for us.”

“That’s… possible.” Thor’s jaw tightens involuntarily. “Loki makes enemies more easily than friends.”

“Aw, jeez, listen to me,” Steve says, handing off the weights for Thor to rack them. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to poke at a sore subject.” He sits up. “Let’s talk about something else.”

And they do. Steve and Thor while away the next few hours in the weight room, exchanging idle chatter between sets and swapping (mostly) insincere jabs at Tony. Thor’s mind wanders from his friend’s war stories, though. It _has_ been years since Thor last saw Loki. Just not as many as he implied.

Ever since New York, Loki had been working with significantly reduced resources—the dark armies of the cosmos weren’t exactly lining up behind him after a defeat like that one. A second tangle with the Avengers would have been disastrous. But that hadn’t stopped Loki from seeking out Thor on his own, to try to provoke him into another fight. World domination might have been off the table, but nothing could stop Loki pursuing a personal grudge.

Attempts at negotiation proved futile. They came to blows more than once, thankfully far from civilian populations. But it wasn’t… _always_ blows. Between the struggle to prevent Loki’s inevitable flight, and Thor’s desire to see his brother come to no irreparable harm, Thor can’t be sure exactly where the nature of their conflict shifted. He remembers all the details, he just can’t work out which ones happened first: when shoving slipped over into grasping. When biting changed from a defense of last resort into a goal. The first time he tasted Loki’s blood on his lips. The first time he tasted his own on Loki’s.

The first time they lay gasping, equally shocked, and Loki was the one to break the silence. “Well,” he said. “It’s clear no one can ever know about _that_.”

“I’m better at discretion than you give me credit for,” Thor mumbled, throwing his arm over his eyes. He hadn’t been drinking, so why did this feel so much like a hangover?

“I’m sure that’s true,” Loki said, rolling over to move closer. “But I wasn’t talking about _you_ running _your_ mouth.” Thor’s eyes snapped open. Loki was eyeing him with a smirk. “I wonder what your friends would think? They wouldn’t believe me at first, but with enough time, and the truth on my side for once—”

Thor leapt up and slammed his knee into his brother’s chest, driving him back against the ground. “Breathe a word of this to anyone and I’ll crush your skull in my hands.”

Loki grabbed Thor’s hips and dug his nails in deep enough to cut. “And I’ll slice your flesh to ribbons if you don’t fuck me again _right now_.”

And… well. Their following encounters were no less violent than any that had come before, but they had become decidedly less brotherly. So, for the purposes of Steve’s inquiry, no. Thor hasn’t seen Loki recently. And yes, a change of subject would be welcome.

Steve and Thor part ways close to midnight, and Thor gives little heed to his surroundings as he drifts back to his quarters. His thoughts go to dark places where questions outnumber answers. More than two years have passed since their last meeting—could Loki have forsaken him, having thought better of this peculiar truce? Or Steve could be right. Few exist who wield the power to kill Loki, but fewer still have any reason to refrain from trying. The possibility hangs on Thor like a weight. Maybe that’s the reason he doesn’t sense the intruder’s presence until after he’s shut the door behind him, and turns to find Loki reclined on his bed.

Thor momentarily forgets how to breathe.

Loki is fully dressed, lying atop the covers with one arm draped over his stomach and his head tilted to one side, fast asleep. Or maybe not: Thor doesn’t think he’s made a sound, but Loki shifts and opens his eyes. He sits up and meets Thor’s gaze, then sighs.

“I meant to make a more impressive entrance than this. Dinner was over four hours ago, where have you been?”

“Where have _I_ been?” Thor barely has breath to force the words past his lips. “Where have—what are you doing here? How did you get in?”

As he answers, Loki stretches his arms and rolls his neck in a lazy arc from shoulder to the other—which has the effect of erasing from Thor’s mind any memory of the question to which the answer belongs. “With some difficulty, I assure you. As for what I’m doing here, don’t ask me what business brings me to Midgard.” A soft frown. “You’d only feel compelled to do something about it.”

Thor wants to close the distance between them, to kneel beside Loki and twist his fingers through his brother’s sleep-tangled hair, to pull him close and force the truth from his lips. But his body is frozen, disobedient to his commands. Part of Thor fears this a trick of the mind. One wrong move and Loki might vanish again, fading into the darkness as swiftly as he appeared.

“I feared the worst,” Thor says. “It’s been…”

“Years, I know.” Loki rises from the bed and takes a step towards the door. “I’ve been counting them, too.” Another step closer, and another—he moves with such excruciating deliberateness. With each step, Thor’s blood burns hotter. “You should know I’ve put myself in considerable danger coming here.” Loki pauses, just out of reach. “I don’t have to stay.”

Thor’s voice is quiet. “I would prefer it if you did.”

Loki tilts his head to one side, and the shadow of a smile crosses his lips. "Well… since you asked nicely." He moves closer and Thor reaches out to embrace him, but Loki’s hand springs up between them and halts Thor before he can pull their bodies flush. "Wait,” he breathes. “If I'm going to stay, we play by my rules."

Thor wants to drag Loki to the floor, to tear his clothing and mark him with bites and bruises, to smother him and pin him down so he can't disappear again. But his impatience can—and _must_ —be mastered. "What rules are those?"

“I happen to like this shirt, and I’d see it escape the night unharmed, for one.” A short laugh, then Loki continues, rushed and breathless. “We both know exactly what you want to do to me, which is why I’m afraid I must forbid it—and in fact--” Here he pauses, lips parted. “I forbid you to touch me at all.” Thor can’t stop the strangled cry that escapes his throat. Loki rolls his eyes and slides his arms around Thor’s shoulders, muttering. “You could at least _try_ to be less predictable.”

Thor shuts his eyes and wills his hands away from Loki’s body, though he can’t quite coax them back to his sides. They hover over Loki’s waist, suspended between too close and too far. “You forbid contact, then initiate it,” he says through gritted teeth. “You keep away for years, and return with no word of warning and less explanation. If my actions are predictable, yours are _mad_.”

“They have a saying here in Midgard,” Loki replies, swaying loosely in the circle of Thor’s arms. “‘Those whom the gods would destroy, they first drive mad.’ Tell me, Thor,”—he pulls close now, pressing the heat of his cheek against Thor’s temple, brushing his lips against Thor’s ear. “Do I madden you?”

Thor growls. “You annoy me.”

He feels a broad, unexpected smile spread on his brother’s face. Loki moves back into view as he cups Thor’s face in his hands, laughing with the sound of one genuinely—for once—surprised. “Who taught you how to lie?”

And then Loki’s lips are on his, at once burning and impossibly cool, and he tastes of smoke and blood and damn the consequences, Thor can’t help but encircle Loki’s waist with his hands and press against him. Loki moans in response and grinds against Thor, weaving his fingers through Thor’s hair as he deepens the kiss.

Thor doesn’t know from what deep reserve he pulls the willpower, but at last, he breaks away. “You _just_ forbid me to touch you,” he pants. “I know you don’t esteem my intellect, but at the risk of earning your ridicule for the thousandth time, what are you playing at with this?”

“I never said _I_ couldn’t touch _you_ ,” Loki says, running his fingers down Thor’s throat to illustrate his point. “I only meant that if I’m to lie with you tonight, you won’t grab me.” Loki takes hold of Thor’s wrists and removes them from his waist, pinning them to the door at Thor’s sides. “Or bruise me.” He leans closer—though Thor’s body screams that it’s not close enough, not nearly, and he strains against the desire to do something about it. “Or shove me against a wall and have your way with me.” There’s a coiled ferocity in Loki’s voice, like the velvet paw of a lion waiting to spring its claws. He nips at Thor’s ear. “Not that there isn’t a time and a place for that. But you have such a one-track mind.” He ghosts his fingers underneath his brother’s shirt, murmuring against Thor’s skin, “Why not let me lead you down a path less taken?”

Thor’s heart races. The suggestion tugs at him even as his rational mind rails against the dangers of surrendering himself to Loki—Loki might kill him, or abandon him, and Thor can’t decide which possibility is worse—but then Loki kisses at the tender flesh below Thor's jaw, and banishes all thought. If it's to be this, whatever _this_ is, or another night alone, then the choice is already made. “I am yours to command.”

“Really, ‘command’?” Loki rests his forehead against Thor’s chest and scoffs gently. “That’s the word you choose?” He hooks his fingers in Thor’s waistband and takes a few steps backward, pulling Thor with him. “So direct.”

Thor remains standing as Loki drops to the edge of the bed, hands resting on Thor’s hips. His pale eyes are locked on Thor’s, unblinking, searching, waiting. In desperate flash, Thor watches himself lunge forward and bury Loki in the mattress, pushing and clawing, but the vision is fleeting. Thor bites his tongue. He dare not make the first move.

At last, Loki’s hands move to the drawstring of Thor’s pants, loosening the knots and pulling Thor ever so gently forward to plant a kiss just above Thor’s hipbone. Thor hisses, arching his head back and curling his fingers into fists to fight his desire to wind them through Loki’s hair. He _must not_ touch. Loki places another kiss an inch below the first, and another, exploring Thor’s skin at a contemplative pace. “You’re doing well so far,” he whispers, tugging Thor’s trousers down.

Loki guides Thor into bed, pulling off Thor’s shirt before pushing him onto his back against the pillows. He sits up, knees planted astride Thor’s hips as he yanks his own shirt over his head and discards it, then presses their bodies together and floods Thor with the warmth of his bare skin. Thor opens to Loki’s kiss, and Loki sucks at Thor’s mouth with a patient, deliberate hunger. Once, Thor raises a hand to grasp at Loki’s hips, but the reprisal comes swift and sharp as Loki catches the offending wrist. “Don’t,” he warns.

He takes his time, mapping Thor’s neck and chest with his tongue, alternating kisses with grazing bites and long, teasing licks. The heat of Loki’s mouth and the shivering cold of its absence dance across Thor’s skin, and he gasps as Loki moves lower. Nothing in their previous encounters offers Thor any hints as to where Loki’s going with this, but a possibility hooks his mind and now it’s all he can do to keep his hands at his sides. The look Loki shoots him says that he’ll have to do a better job keeping his thoughts to himself. “Patience never was your strong suit,” Loki says with a low, throaty laugh, and takes the tip of Thor’s cock into his mouth.

Thor bucks his hips only to feel Loki slam them back down with surprising force. “Behave yourself,” he hisses. Thor swallows, and forces himself to lie still, aching for the sensation of Loki’s tongue again. Loki drags out the seconds before starting a long, slow lick up Thor’s length, drawing a choked moan from the thunder god.

Thor writhes under the shifting storm of lips and tongue and fingers, and more than once he bites back a cry that would surely draw the attention of any passersby outside. He can’t last long this way. Even so, whenever Loki comes up for air, Thor has to resist the urge to grab him by the neck and shove him back down. He grips the sheets instead.

Loki hauls himself up on one arm to meet Thor face to face, still stroking him gently. He gives Thor an appraising, calculating look, and declares: “I’d like to take you.”

Something in Thor’s expression must have betrayed him, because now Loki frowns and raises an eyebrow. “Oh please, don’t tell me the mighty Thor is such a delicate flower.”

“No, I—” Thor stammers. “It’s only that I’ve never—”

“Nor had I, but that didn’t stop you, did it?” Loki leans down for another kiss, harder than the last, and glares. “I think you owe me.”

Thor holds Loki’s gaze without blinking. “Fair is fair.”

Loki’s smile returns. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He bites at Thor’s lower lip, then at his jaw, and his throat. “Don’t worry,” he purrs, half-mocking. “I’ll be gentle.”

He returns to Thor’s erection, licking and sucking, and wets his fingers at the same time. Thor clenches his teeth, prepared for the worst, but Loki only curls a knuckle against him. He rubs with the barest hint of pressure. Thor shudders as an unexpected wave of pleasure rocks him, and Loki takes the opportunity to slip one finger just inside and that’s—new. Very new.

A slap stings the side of Thor’s face. “Breathe,” Loki commands, and Thor realizes he hasn’t been.

Loki moves in slow circles, giving Thor’s cock the full attention of his mouth, questing further at each gasp or moan or less dignified noise from Thor. Thor arches his back as Loki curls a finger inside him. He has to do _something_ with his hands, so he grips Loki’s shoulder and is immediately shaken off. Loki pulls out too quickly, and the cold shock of it is the first thing so far tonight that Thor could describe as painful.

“I said no touching,” Loki says as he pins Thor’s wrists above his head, “and I meant it.” He hoists Thor’s leg over his shoulder with his free hand, and thrusts in.

The force of it knocks the wind out of Thor, even as Loki slows and rolls Thor’s hips against his own, hitting just the right angle as he takes hold of Thor and strokes him with every thrust. He dives forward and muffles Thor’s cries in a suffocating kiss. Something winds tight in Thor’s chest, and Loki pushes deeper, forcing him undone. His vision goes white as the orgasm overtakes him. 

Loki’s breath is ragged now. He’s bent lower, his head resting almost in the crook of Thor’s neck, and the arm that holds Thor’s wrists is trembling. He must be close. Emboldened by the afterglow, Thor wrenches one of his hands free, pulls Loki’s throat to his mouth, and bites down hard enough to bruise. What starts as a shout of rage twists into a shuddering gasp as Loki climaxes.

His hand flies to Thor’s throat. “ _I’ll kill you_ ,” he rasps.

Thor smiles, just a little. “You won’t.” Loki’s strength gives out, and Thor catches his mouth in an exhausted kiss as they collapse against one another.

**Author's Note:**

> The working title of this fic was "in which Loki plays the 'I'm not touching you' game with Thor and then things get weird."
> 
> and for those of you asking why Loki's pants seem to disappear about 2/3 of the way through the fic, the answer is: shut up. The answer is also: I dunno probably magic or something? but the answer is mostly: I forgot about them so shut up.


End file.
